


Burning Questions

by Valaks



Category: Alex Rider - Anthony Horowitz
Genre: Asking questions can get you burned, Gen, I forgot about it too don’t worry, It’s one of AH’s short stories, Loud noises as triggers, Non consensual drugging of a minor, Post Christmas at Gunpoint, Typical Alex sneaking around at night, Unrepentant Fluff, Yall never read my tags so I’m assuming I can spoil from here, yes fluff can have whump, y’all need Jesus for what you’ve done to Alex this month
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-19 02:07:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29618928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valaks/pseuds/Valaks
Summary: After Gunpoint all Alex wanted was answers. He hadn’t expected to get them and especially not like this.OrIan and Alex make hot chocolate post Christmas at Gunpoint.AR Febuwhump Day 22: Burned
Relationships: Alex Rider & Ian Rider
Comments: 6
Kudos: 58
Collections: AR Febuwhump 2021





	Burning Questions

Alex didn’t know what was colder - the thin ice of the lake beneath his feet or the eyes behind the steel barrel of the gun aimed at him just off shore. 

“Give me the laptop,” Da Silva demanded - not for the first time. “Or I will shoot you where you stand.” 

Alex shifted his weight and the ice creaked loudly beneath him. He tried to tell himself that Da Silva wouldn’t kill him; not when his body falling would crack the ice and send him _and_ the laptop plunging into the partially frozen lake. 

His reasoning didn’t feel very convincing as he watched Da Silva’s finger tighten around the trigger. “Give it to me!”

“Don’t do it, Alex!” 

Ian. 

Alex’s sigh of relief came out in a cloud in front of him in the icy air - but it was short lived. In an instant, Da Silva had swung the gun away from him. 

There was a deafening bang. 

A pained cry.

And Alex watched in horror as his uncle crumpled to the ground, the white snow around him staining bright red. He stepped forward before he’d thought about it. There was a crack as if Da Silva had fired again - but it was the ice under Alex’s feet. Suddenly he was falling, arms stretching out to catch himself and instead getting caught in something tight that twisted around him. He shot upright, eyes flying open, pulling and tugging until he was free of the sheets of the bed, _his_ bed, in Chelsea. 

They’d been back from Colorado for days, and he’d thought it would get better. It hadn’t. Every night the memory played out in its own unique and horrifying way: sometimes Ian being shot; sometimes Alex falling and getting trapped under the ice. 

Tonight had been both. Lucky him. 

After almost a week of this he was dead on his feet but his brain wouldn’t stop replaying it over and over. He worried his lip, considering what to do then sighed, pulling the blankets up, he needed to at least try and get some sleep. His head had barely touched the pillow when there was another muffled bang. Alex shot out of bed, looking furtively around for the source - before he realised what it was. New Years. A fireworks display. That should have reassured him - but a piercing pop from outside his window had Alex instinctively ducking. He needed out. He didn’t know where - he knew he couldn’t leave the house after Ian set the alarms, and, anyway, he wasn’t sure it would be better outside - but he couldn’t stay in here either. 

He threw himself out of the room and down the stairs of the still hallway, racing for the large expanse of the living room and was almost disappointed that Ian wasn’t there. It was a childish thought; of course his uncle needed sleep too. Or maybe he’d nipped out for the night. Ian had vanished at worse times than New Years: the evening of Alex’s 8th birthday had been particularly notable. 

Suddenly aimless, he found himself drifting towards the kitchen instead. He filled a glass of water from the tap and drank it as he leaned against the counter, trying to steady himself as the fireworks continued to boom. Each one seemed to ring loudly in his head, his whole body tensing as he braced himself for the pained cry that had followed when Ian had… He shook his head, feeling stupid just _thinking_ that; and rubbed the cool glass against his forehead, willing himself to get a grip.

“Headache?”

The soft voice pierced the darkness out of nowhere, and Alex nearly dropped the glass. _Jesus_ , he was quiet. Alex shouldn’t be surprised - not after living with him this long. Ian had been the one to teach him to walk on the balls of his feet, after all and he should have known Ian would come the moment he heard movement in the house.

“No,” Alex returned stiffly. 

Things had been stilted between them since Colorado. No - that wasn’t fair. Ian hadn’t changed; he was as unflappable and calm as ever, like nothing had ever happened. He had lectured Alex about putting himself in danger and then they hadn’t mentioned it again. Everything was back to normal - well, as normal as things could be considered between them. It was Alex who had the problem.

“No? A fever then?” His uncle was in front of him, pushing the glass aside and laying a hand on his forehead. 

“I’m f-” He broke off as there was another pop from somewhere outside, his whole body tensing instinctively. His gaze jumped to Ian and he mentally swore. Even in the dim light he could practically see the understanding in his uncle’s eyes. The hand slid off of his forehead, and Ian stepped back, assessing him. Alex found himself wishing he’d just stayed in bed. “I didn’t mean to wake you up,” he finished lamely, setting his glass down on the counter.

“The fireworks did that.” Ian shrugged.

Something eased in Alex’s chest - whether because he wasn’t in trouble or just because he hadn’t been responsible for waking Ian, he wasn’t sure. Maybe both? The idea of Ian not liking the fireworks was certainly comforting. It made him feel less like a stupid kid who hid under his blankets when it thundered. 

“You won’t be able to sleep as tense as you are,” Alex bit back a retort. Ian wasn’t wrong but that didn’t make it any less annoying. But Ian didn’t seem interested in dishing out a lecture for once. He was looking vaguely around the kitchen. “If you like I can show you something your father and I used to have when we were younger.”

Despite himself, Alex perked up, trying not to look too eager - enthusiasm was bound to make Ian think twice about his offer. 

“Turn on the light, Alex.” 

Alex obeyed, leaning over to flick the switch as Ian dug through a cupboard and surfaced with a saucepan. _Cooking?_ Alex wanted to ask but instead settled awkwardly against the counter waiting for further instructions. 

“Get the milk and whipping cream out.” 

By the time Alex turned again, cartons in hand, his uncle was standing thoughtfully in front of a row of spices. He selected one and then moved to the pantry. 

The instructions continued to come. “Pour 600 milliliters of milk into the saucepan.” 

Alex sifted through the drawers looking for a measuring cup. Jack was notoriously disorganized and it always felt like an adventure finding anything in the kitchen. He was rewarded four drawers in. By the time he was back at the hob, Ian was there as well, a box of brown sugar and a jar of cinnamon sitting on the counter, along with a bar of dark chocolate.

Ian flipped the burner to medium as Alex poured the milk, but made no move toward getting any other ingredients out which left Alex with a bit of a puzzle. What could they possibly make with just milk and...

It clicked, and he had to fight down a smile. Hot chocolate, he realized, and not the terrible prepackaged kind that Jack kept stashed away for the rare occasion where it snowed. The _real_ kind. 

“We’ll need a teaspoon,” Ian said as soon as Alex had finished pouring. He took the measuring jug from Alex, who returned to the drawer. He resurfaced quickly, setting it by the stove. Ian pressed the cutting board and knife towards him, chocolate bar on top.

“Chop, roughly. It will melt so it doesn’t have to be perfect,” he explained. Alex nodded and picked up the chocolate to unwrap it. It wasn’t anything he recognized, which, seeing as he had lived with a chocoholic American for the last 5 years, was an impressive feat. That also meant it was probably hideously expensive - 60% cocoa and sustainably sourced from a rainforest that they surprisingly hadn’t made it to yet. 

They worked in silence that was punctuated only by the boom of fireworks, the thick chop of the knife and the gentle grate of a whisk behind him. Alex used the time to wonder if Ian had planned for this. Probably. The thought of chocolate in the house that had escaped Jack unnoticed was almost laughable. 

“How did you get this past Jack?” 

“I have my ways.” That was usually cue to the start of his newest lesson. Maybe Ian noticed Alex’s internal groan because he suddenly smiled. “This one was rather simple - I went to the shops myself.” He tilted his head. “And hid it in with the veg.” There it was.

“I won’t tell,” he said with a small smile. “What’s the story behind this hiding spot?”

“Your father and his cigarettes,” Ian returned easily from where he was pouring something into the milk. 

“He smoked?” The look Ian shot him told him he had come across a hair too interested, but he kept going anyway.

“He tried. Briefly. Our housekeeper put a quick end to it when she eventually caught him. She made him smoke 2 packs in a row. He never wanted to look at them again.”

“A housekeeper?” That was the first he had heard of them having a housekeeper growing up. He had never been able to get a straight answer out of Ian about his grandparents. Maybe they had been in similar circumstances? Would make sense why Ian would want Jack around. 

“Yes, a housekeeper, she’s the reason for the number one rule. Which is…”

“Don’t mess with Essex.” Alex grinned. It had always seemed a bit silly but now it made more sense.

“Exactly. Keep chopping.” Alex hadn’t even realized he’d set aside the knife. He almost jumped out of his skin when Ian kept talking, expecting the room to fade to silence like it always did when Ian gave him a scrap of his past. “Her name was Mrs. Mitch but we called her Mrs. …well, I’m sure you can imagine, for all that she griped at us.”

There was a lapse in the silence, an obvious invitation that he couldn’t resist. “Really mature of you two.”

“We were a bit of hellions; thankfully you took after your mother.” Alex sucked in a breath. Helen Rider got mentioned even less frequently than his father did. “This recipe actually was one Mrs. Mitch would make for us when we were younger. We begged it off of her once we grew up enough to reach the stove ourselves. After that she would supervise us making it.”

The image of his father and uncle whisking together hot chocolate seemed absurd but it was kind of unreasonable for him to think that they never had a childhood - even if that image had probably been carefully cultivated. 

“How old were you when she took over?” he tried tentatively as he cut the last block of chocolate.

“Mrs. Mitch had been at the estate for a few decades before your father and I came along. She was also one of the last ones left after, well....” He shook his head. “She retired just after I went off to Cambridge. Said she never wanted to see another Rider again after your father and I.” There was a surprising amount of fondness in that tone. “That should be good enough.” Alex almost cursed under his breath as he set aside the knife and grabbed the board sliding it onto the cleared off counter next to Ian who snatched a piece off of it without any preamble. 

Alex stared. Ian’s eyes shone with rare amusement. 

“I do indulge myself sometimes, Alex. Try it, you might like it.”

He didn’t like dark chocolate usually, but it wasn’t as if sweets were something they had all that often; even soda was saved for special occasions - good marks or leveling up in martial arts. It made the rare treats almost cloying but this was...surprisingly good. He reached for another and Ian slapped his wrist he looked up in betrayal.

“Brown sugar first. One teaspoon. Then you can have another. You have to earn your keep around here.” 

Alex rolled his eyes exaggeratedly but did as he was told. 

Ian watched him with an exacting eye. “Compact it.” Apparently his perfectionism extended to hot chocolate making. Alex wasn’t sure why it surprised him given how stringent he was normally, he mused as he tapped it in the saucepan.

He quietly accepted the whisk from Ian and watched the milk color slightly as the sugar dissolved. Ian titled the chopping board up and Alex quickly snatched a piece midair, earning a mild reproaching look. 

“Quality control?” he offered, hoping to keep the conversation alive. Ian just turned to the sink, cutting the water on to wash off the cutting board. Alex smothered a sigh. He should have known that would be all he would get out of Ian. That he had been given even the smallest look into their childhood was more than he could really ask for. Not that he should _have_ to ask. His uncle should _want_ to share that with him - but nothing was ever that easy; not with Ian. 

He only realized he was scraping harshly against the bottom of the pan when a hand enclosed around his, stilling the angry motion. 

“Easy.” 

He took a breath and only when he nodded did Ian release him and leaned against the counter next to him and the room fell into silence. 

“I believe he would have been proud of you.” Ian didn’t have to specify who ‘he’ was, Alex knew without a doubt. The fond, distant expression on his uncle’s face all but confirmed it. 

Alex stilled. His heart beat had picked up; he didn’t dare speak. 

There was another short pause. Then: 

“You handled yourself well.”

There was no question as to what that was about, either. 

Gunpoint. 

They hadn’t talked about it. He had wanted to, had tried, but every attempt had been roughly shut down after the first night where Ian had made him write down what had happened. Facts only. That part had been very clear. He’d had to rewrite it five times before it had been deemed acceptable enough. 

After that Ian had kept him close around the lodge. He had told himself it was because Ian was scared at the thought of losing him. But it had become painfully clear that it was more to keep the investigators from speaking with him than anything else. 

“You almost got killed.” It slipped out before he could stop himself. He should be asking questions - what was so important about the laptop? How did Ian know about it? How did he get a gun? But none of those seemed to matter. 

Something in Ian’s shoulders softened. “So did you.” 

“I’m a kid, I do stupid things -”

“You did a brave thing.” He interrupted, “A stupid thing - quite a few stupid things, in fact, but you did them well and kept your wits about you. He’d be proud.” 

Alex looked up in challenge, wanting to ask if Ian was too, but the words died on his lips. His uncle’s face said it all. 

“How did you know where I was?” 

“I listened for the shouting.” It was a gentle tease but not wrong; it certainly hadn’t been the first time Ian had come sailing in at just the right time. It _was_ the only time he had shot someone to handle the situation. “I should have been there sooner.” 

“It wouldn’t have changed anything - he had more men…” Alex winced at the memory of the man who had gone under the lake.

“I read your debrief,” Ian interrupted quickly, and then hesitated. “The rest of them made it down the mountain.” So the man _had_ died, then. It shouldn’t surprise Alex but it felt like a cold weight settling on what had so far been something warm between them. 

“And Da Silva?” he pressed. 

“He lived. I shot to incapacitate.” 

“Did Dad teach you that?”

“Our father taught us how to shoot rifles when he was at the estate.” There was a sour twist to his words. Jealousy, maybe? Or anger? Ian was hard to read on the best of days. Tonight there were too many emotions and a history that Alex wasn’t familiar with to know for sure.

Still, he had to press; it wasn’t often that Ian talked about his father. Only in quiet moments like this. Tonight he was being open. It was worth trying his luck. “Is that why Dad went into the military?” 

“There were many reasons. His skill with shooting was one. Getting out of the house early was another.”

“Why would he want to -”

“Alex.” It was a reprimand and Alex tried his best not to flinch as his uncle pushed off the counter, afraid he had run him off, but Ian only busied himself with pulling two mugs from above the coffee machine. Still, it signaled an end to the conversation and he hated himself a little for pressing too far again. “We can discuss it another time,” Ian said. “For now, you are supposed to be relaxing.” 

He _was_ relaxed. The thought came as a bit of a surprise. Somehow, through all of this, he had tuned out fireworks as his world had distilled down to a kitchen and his uncle, and hot cocoa. His surprise must have shown on his face because Ian smiled knowingly.

“60 milliliters of cream and a pinch of cinnamon and it’ll be done.” He held his hand out for the whisk and Alex passed it over, taking the cleaned measuring cup and leveling it out with the cream as Ian sprinkled the cinnamon in. Alex returned the carton to the refrigerator and then settled against the counter, watching as his uncle ladled the dark liquid into one of Jack’s obnoxious animal mugs and then shifted to grip the base. Alex carefully grabbed at the tentacle that served as the handle trying not to slosh any over the brim as Ian poured his own into an eagle mug - half full at best. He settled back against the counter, far more intent on watching Alex than sampling his own. 

The cup was warm in his hands, pleasantly so, which meant the liquid probably wasn’t much hotter. He carefully blew the steam off the top then took a sip - and immediately recoiled as it seared the tip of his tongue.

Ian huffed out a laugh. “A little hot?”

Alex shot him a sour look in return and fished in the drawer behind him for a spoon to stir some of the heat away. If he was really lucky, Ian wouldn’t make him explain the science behind why it would work. They’d gone through that enough times with tea. 

“I have another business meeting coming up soon,” Ian said after a moment. “But if you’d like I could take you out to learn to shoot clays.” 

Alex almost dropped his cup. “At the estate?”

“No; it was sold before you were born.” He shouldn’t be surprised by that; surely they would have visited if they had still owned it. “I have some friends from work who would be willing to let us use some of their equipment.”

Friends from work? That Ian had friends at _all_ was news to him but tonight had been full of surprises. “Yeah, I’d like that. I’d like that a lot.” 

Ian nodded. “I’ll get it set up, then. Maybe nip off school for a few days…” Suddenly this seemed less like something to connect Alex to their past and something far more personal - and the only thing he could really connect that with was Da Silva.

“They’re not going to be coming after us, right?”

“Of course not.” Ian arched an eyebrow. “It’s just an early birthday present, Alex.” 

Something told Alex there was more to it, but he couldn’t put his finger on what, and he knew confronting Ian about it would only get him further shot down.

“It’s cooled off.” Ian nodded to the mug. “Try it now.”

Alex stared at him dubiously. He could still feel his tongue raw and smarting from where it had burned. But the mug was no longer steaming, so he took a tentative sip. It was rich and thick and creamy with just the barest hint of spice at the end. He took another gulp, pointedly ignoring the satisfied smile from his uncle.

“Sips, Alex. If you’re thirsty, drink water. This is meant to be enjoyed slowly,” Ian chastised gently. 

Normally Alex would be annoyed at being told how to _drink_ something but he heard the underlying note that Ian wanted to enjoy it with _him_ . He slowed, basking in the warm, sweet drink and even warmer silence. By the time he reached the end of it, he felt infinitely better than he had when he entered the kitchen, relaxed in a way he hadn’t felt since Colorado - warm and full and _safe._

“How was it?” Ian finally broke the silence, accepting his empty mug and surprising Alex by turning back to the stove to refill it partway.

Seconds? Of a sweet? And without Alex even having to ask? It was a miracle and probably a sign that Ian was enjoying himself as much as Alex was.

“Really good.”

“I’d give the recipe to Jack but I doubt she’d keep chocolate in the house long enough for you to get any.” 

“Probably not.” Alex broke into a yawn, his lack of sleep hitting him hard. “Really knocks you out, doesn’t it?”

“That’s a bit of the point,” Ian returned, with a knowing smile, and handed him the mug back. “Go to bed, I’ll clean up.” 

Alex hesitated, feeling like he should thank Ian, but not really knowing where to start with it. He gave up as he blinked back sleep again, and settled for a nod and a tired smile that he hoped communicated just how much he appreciated everything.

“Goodnight, Alex.” It was a dismissal, but there was a small smile in return that told him Ian got the message.

He heard a bustle of activity start behind him as he climbed the stairs and turned into his room. The bed was a mess, covers spilling out over the floor and flung to the end of the bed. A reminder of the nightmare that had gotten him up in the first place. He didn’t realize how tired he was until he set about pulling his bed back into some semblance of order. It wasn’t like he had even _done_ anything to exhaust himself other than maybe some jet lag? He settled in, taking another long sip from the mug even as his eyes began to drift closed. 

A brief moment of awareness allowed him to set the mug on the nightstand before sleep claimed him again.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you as always to poor, beleaguered Lupin who has to deal with all of my shenanigans. Bless her and her crops.
> 
> Also blessings to Ireliss for this beautiful piece of art she drew please check out her fanfics on AO3 as Ireliss and more of her art work on tumblr at:
> 
> https://irelise.tumblr.com/post/633051343878242304/fic-behind-the-scenes-alex-rider


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